Exposed (27 page)

Ivan moved his mouth down her jaw, down her neck, his tongue tracing a languid trail down her body while his cock thrust into her over and over and over.

And then his mouth found her breast and June gasped. It was too much—too much. She could barely stop herself to exploding with ecstasy. Ivan sucked at her, flicked his tongue against the hardness of her nipple, and June cried out.

Ivan nearly growled and dragged his mouth back to hers, all restraint vanished. He kissed her fiercely and June responded. 

Faster, harder, June tilted upward so Ivan’s cock rubbed every sensitive spot. Their little nest of vines swayed and creaked with each building thrust until they and it were shuddering together. Eyes closed, gasping, clawing each other closer, deeper, faster.

And June tumbled over the edge of euphoria. Tumbled into a pool deep and hot with Ivan’s arms around her, right there with her. 

Their moans pierced the summer sky, and the sun and mountains looked down at them lying still and spent in each other’s arms.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Ivan

June had accepted Ivan’s challenge, fully accepted it. 

Ivan had to laugh at how much she’d thrown herself into the mismatched outfit, as much care put into this ensemble as her usual attire. Above the loafers—which had grown worn along the edges and toes and only had a penny in the left shoe—June wore heavy, brown stockings she said she’d found at the back of her mother’s drawer. She wore a fuchsia dress—she’d corrected Ivan when he’d called it simply pink—exploding with bows down the front, at the shoulders, even at the back of the sash. Above it, she’d topped the fussy dress with a paisley yellow-and-orange silk scarf tied around her neck. There was another scarf tied around her ponytail, this one striped red and green, and a different ring on every finger. 

Nearly everything, she’d said, was taken from her mother’s overstuffed closet. But what she said really made the whole thing veer from terrible to traumatic was an orange-y coral lipstick slathered thickly over her lips. 

June squeezed Ivan’s hand, the gaudy rings biting into his fingers. She fidgeted back and forth, scuffing the toes of her heavy loafers against the cement of the alley. They were hidden here, secreted away between stacks of boxes. 

But just a few steps away, the streets of Independence Falls bustled with Sunday shoppers and traffic. It was the place June dreaded in that moment, if Ivan had to hazard a guess.

June groaned and glanced down at her outfit with a mixture of horror and shame making her mouth twitch and her eyebrows draw together. She looked away quickly, like it was the scene of some awful crime.

“I think you look amazing,” Ivan said, peering down at June and giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. 

And Ivan meant it. Yes, her outfit was comically mismatched and dowdier than he’d ever witnessed on June. But under the fluorescent lipstick and silly dress, she was still the same June—the woman who forced him to be a better version of himself; the woman whose kindness knew no bounds. Ivan just hoped this little exercise would open her eyes to it. She didn’t need validation from these people, she could easily find it within herself if she just looked. 

June scrunched her face up and tugged her hand free to fuss at the rings adorning every finger. She leaned forward, toward the mouth of the alley between the general store and diner. All the while, June tugged and squirmed. She tried to straighten one of the bows on her dress, but a second later it just tilted again, one side drooping low. 

“I look like a clown,” June groaned. “A colorblind clown.” She gestured frantically at her dress. “This lipstick clashes so horribly with this ridiculous dress. And this stupid scarf.” She jammed a finger between her neck and the paisley scarf and tugged. 

Ivan pulled her hands away from the offending scarf and held them between his own. He leaned in for a quick kiss. “You’re the loveliest colorblind clown I’ve ever seen.”

June blew a big, puffing sigh out of her nose. Her brown eyes shifted right and left, and a whine built in her throat. “Why did I agree to do this?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Ivan’s lips, and he stared at June with laughter in his eyes as she huffed in defeat. 

She took a big breath and a step forward. Sunlight glowed over her legs and onto the thick stockings. Another step, and the fuchsia dress saw the light. She stood there on the cusp, shifting back and forth on her feet. Then she darted back to Ivan and tugged at his arm. 

“How about,” she said, trying to yank him behind one of the larger stacks of boxes. “How about we sneak back here and do what we did a few days ago?”

Ivan groaned and let June tug him one, two steps behind the boxes. A giant grin curled up the edges of June’s mouth and both her hands snaked around Ivan’s back and clamped onto his bottom to pull him closer. June’s determined hands yanked him against her, and his cock responded to the softness of her stomach against his hardness. Ivan’s heart tumbled about in his chest, ramming against his ribs at her proximity, her scent. Mostly at her boldness to do
this
where anyone could see them. 

June wiggled her hips, that Cheshire grin firmly in place, and rubbed her way up his body until she was standing on tip-toes to reach Ivan’s mouth. She flicked her tongue along Ivan’s bottom lip then snatched it between her teeth. A groan rolled up his throat, and he almost forgot himself. Almost …. 

His hands were already roaming up the sweet curve of her waist, already cupping the fullness of her small, firm breasts, already opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. But then his fingers caught in one of the bows marching down the front of her dress, and he remembered. Ivan snatched his hand away and jumped back. His body was not pleased with this show of mental fortitude, but Ivan stayed strong. 

“How about we meet up afterward and spend a whole night doing what we did.”

“And the day after?” June reached up and rubbed the pad of her thumb at an apparent smudge of coral lipstick at the corner of Ivan’s lips. 

Ivan licked her thumb. “And the day after that too.”

June skirted the boxes they’d been hiding behind, her caramel eyes sparkling. She primly patted at the corners of her lips, but then ran a light finger down the plane of Ivan’s stomach and down the length of his arousal straining against the front of his trousers. 

“How about next week? Can you pencil me in next week?” June walked backward, step over step until she was nearly flush with the alley’s entrance.

Ivan crooked an eyebrow. “I’ll see what I can do.”

June laughed, then stepped out of the alley and into the town. Into whispers and glances and gossip.

Ivan waited a minute, then slipped out of the alley and found a stone bench near the town hall to watch. He glanced up at the statue of Mamie Watkins—he had a feeling the town’s founder would have liked June.

He pulled a book out of his satchel. It was one June had given him—“Robinson Crusoe” by Daniel Defoe—but he could barely pretend to read. 

June hovered in the shadows of the buildings, her chin tucked to her chest. Her shoulders hunched inward, and she kept twisting her fingers together. A trickle of doubt wriggled its way through Ivan’s mind. Was this cruel, this challenge? Was he asking too much of June, to expect her to go against something she honestly enjoyed—dressing well, being put-together—just to prove his point that she needn’t care what others thought? 

And more than that. He couldn’t forget what she’d admitted back in the mine. Making others happy was her only currency—or it had been until she started at the bank. What if this did her actual harm?

What they were, the power inside of them, was already so dangerous. Ivan shifted uncomfortably on the bench. What if this ridiculous challenge of his did her more harm than good? Something she had precious little of in her life since discovering her power.

In those first few minutes, dread filled Ivan. He itched to leap from the stone bench and rush to her side and save her. But he turned the pages of his book and watched her over the edge of the cover. 

June walked stiffly, like her joints were in rebellion and she had to fight for every step, every inch into foreign territory. Butch was outside the bar with Danny and elbowed the other man when June walked past, though it seemed at least he stayed quiet. Ivan watched her eyes rake through the crowds of people, searching, searching. Her gaze found his and held it. He saw her shoulders heave in a big breath, and she nodded to herself.

Her strides were a bit easier then, less stilted. She waved at Lucy Roberts and said a few words to Frank and Will as they walked by. Both boys turned after she’d passed and watched her go, uncertainty clouding their features. But then Will shook his head and they turned back to walking and talking, June and her unique outfit apparently forgotten.

And it seemed June was nearly forgetting it too. She still tugged at the dress, the scarf at her neck, still played self-consciously with the gaudy rings, but she didn’t give up. Soon, her feet strode over the sidewalks in front of the storefronts and gravel walkways of the town square. Almost exactly like the June everyone knew, though perhaps dressed a bit differently. 

Across the way, Ivan watched as she chatted with Teddy and his friend Samantha Miller, home from college for the summer. And then, she laughed. Tipped her head back, opened wide in a smile, and laughed.

Ivan had to laugh too. Laugh with this mad, beautiful, courageous girl he loved.

The laugh stuttered to a stop and Ivan sat the book down into his lap very deliberately. Love. Until this very moment, Ivan hadn’t acknowledged the fact that he loved June. He’d fallen completely, unquestionably in love with June Powell. Ivan hadn’t thought he’d ever find something in this town that he liked, let alone loved. Sure, he loved his family, felt at home on his farm, but the Sokolov’s bubble south of town wasn’t nearly the same as the cattiness and gossip, the disapproval and mistrust he’d faced nearly his entire life in Independence Falls. A wide, rare smile lit up Ivan’s face, and a calm certainty washed through him.

He loved June Powell. 

And he couldn’t wait to tell her.

He focused his eyes and smiled even wider. June was scurrying toward him, a small smile on her lips and a daisy twirling between her hands. She strode right up to Ivan and stuck the daisy in his shirt pocket and pulled him to his feet.

He was dizzy at the love overcoming him, almost in a daze. 

“June,” he managed.

“Ivan,” she said back. “I did it. I want to die of humiliation, but I did it.” 

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself,” Ivan said with a bit of a frown.

“Oh, I forgot about this”—and she waved a hand at her outfit—“for a bit, but I just feel so … peculiar. And I’m not sure if I mean that in a good way. But,” she said, keeping her hands firmly in his. “But I think you’re right. People aren’t about to disown me if I’m not Perfect June Powell.” She grinned. “That’s nearly as liberating as the first time I yelled at you.”

Ivan wrapped his fingers around June’s, looked down at her. His heart beat hard in his chest and he had to swallow past a sudden dryness in his throat. Who knew declaring love for someone would fill him with more nerves than making love. But then he’d felt almost drunk with desire. Now, he felt clear-headed and sure. So, so sure of June. Of them.

“June, I—”

The clock in the town hall chimed, and June jumped. “Oh! I have to run.” She explained when Ivan’s forehead contracted. “Remember, I’m working until close at the bank today. My shift starts in half an hour, and I need to change.”

“You don’t need to change. Stay here with me.”

June picked at the bows on her dress. “Ivan, you already got me to try out this experiment, but there is absolutely no earthly way I will go to work like this.”

“Please?” Ivan was nearly desperate. He needed to tell her, needed to show her exactly how much he loved her.

June laughed. “No,” she said simply. “You were right, I don’t need to always do what everyone else wants.”

She was three rushed steps away when June darted back. “We’ll see each other later, promise.” She nodded toward the general store across the square. “We need to plan out your pitch to my father, after all.”

She flew across the square toward home. Ivan watched her go, watched the way people stared at her, smiled at her, accepted her. It made Ivan find a new bit of respect for the town, however small. Perhaps if his family actually came into town, showed them what they were really like … maybe then people wouldn’t regard them with suspicion.

But that was a discussion for another day. Ivan strolled back to his truck and pulled away a canvas sheet covering a box of produce and a tin of flowers. 

June would be unhappy she hadn’t been there to support him like she wanted, but Ivan had to do this his way. And if Mr. Powell denied his family like the other manager had all those years ago, he didn’t want June there to witness it.

Ivan hauled the box into his arms and headed toward the store.

Ivan could barely see over the giant crate full of vegetables and fruit—cucumbers and blackberries; peppers and the first of the season’s peaches. He’d tucked the tin of flowers into a corner of the crate and balanced the whole thing in his arms.

He fought a wriggle of humiliation worming through his gut. Ivan didn’t want to look desperate, but there was no other word for what was happening to his family. Yesterday at the farmers’ market, Kostya hadn’t sold a single thing. It was more fruit and vegetables added to the pile behind the greenhouses, more flowers left out to rot. They were canning and preserving all they could, but his family could only eat so much pickled vegetables. And there were things they needed that didn’t grow in their fields. Already, produce was withering on the vine. It was like watching money shrivel up and disappear. If this continued much longer, the Sokolovs were not going to have any room to wait things out.